


Beyond Saving

by Shyspyder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort later on, M/M, s7e5, s7e6, spoilers for s7e6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:21:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyspyder/pseuds/Shyspyder
Summary: Thoros of Myr's death had more than one consequence for Beric Dondarrion.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> After the sixth episode, I would have liked to have seen more moments between the two, so I wrote this up real quick. I’ll have the next update out soon enough. Also, a few of the things mentioned in the chapter (Beric knowing Benjen from a post-rebellion tourney, etc.) probably aren’t that accurate, but are sort of necessary for the story. Thanks for reading:)

Beric could not stop shivering. The riverlands had grown cold enough in the autumn, but the cool breezes and light dusting of snow was nothing compared to what they faced at the wall. A sheet of ice that stacked higher than anything else in Westeros, and piles of surrounding snow to match it. Their horses barely made it to the wall. And even then, the wildlings took whatever they had left.

He shivered and shook and pulled his cloak closer in, huddled up against the walls of Eastwatch. It would be the last they spent in the miserable tower, before heading venturing out beyond the wall. A low fire burned in the corner. With each passing moment, the flame grew smaller and smaller. Yet he could not summon the energy to tend to it. Instead, he focused on the flame. Narrowing his eyes at the dancing yellows and reds, reading for some sort of sign from his Lord. But his thoughts soon wandered. And for the first time in a long time, Beric thought about his home. His _real_ home. In the south. 

Blackhaven was far enough for the snow to pile up, in the rare moments where it reached the Stormlands in the first place. Beric thought about his childhood, laughing in the snow that melted before it hit the ground. He wondered if any snow would be there now. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He supposed it would.

Beric never realized how happy his childhood had been, until he met Thoros. Though he couldn’t claim to have had the best relationship with his father, he could never imagine what it must have felt like to have been sold to a temple. Like a goat, or a sack of flour. He hadn’t realized a great many things until he met Thoros. In the corner of his eye, he could see the red priest staring at the flame as well. Though his gaze less intense. He was nursing that same flash of wine from miles back. _He’s going to run out sooner or later_ , he thought feverishly. _May the Lord of Light pardon us all the day that happens._

_ He hadn’t realized that he’d been watching his red priest for quite some time, for when Thoros caught his eye, he gave him the hint of a smile, and tilted the flask towards Beric. Beric gave what he hoped was a smile back, but his face felt like it was frozen in place. He wanted to move towards him, but he feared he would not be able to stand. Luckily, Thoros unwrapped himself from the cloak and stood up slowly. His legs were shaking slightly. Whether it was from the wine or the weather, Beric did not know. Perhaps a bit of both. _

“You should rest,” he heard himself say. But Thoros ignored him.

“If the Lord wanted me to rest, he would have killed me already,” he muttered. But his gaze softened when he saw Beric wince. He shifted slightly, so their sides were pressed together. _For the body heat,_ he told himself. Thoros’ voice was soft yet still raspy. The same one he had grown so used to, in all the time they have spent together. Beric let his eyes drift shut. Even at the edge of the world, it made him feel warm. “We’re really going to go out there, aren’t we?” Thoros stared back into the flame. It was dying down, but neither were bothered to add wood. They wouldn’t be here for much longer anyway. 

“It’s not our place to question our Lord,” Beric mumbled. Thoros didn’t say anything, but his eyebrows furrowed together. He moved closer to Thoros, shivering against each other. Sitting together this way, he could almost fall asleep. But he forced himself to stay awake. 

Beric found himself thinking about the boy who had come with the Stark bastard. Gendry, his name was. The bastard boy from Flea Bottom. He knew it was wrong the moment they accepted the gold. Just like he knew it would be wrong to accept ransom for the Stark girl. But both times Thoros had convinced him otherwise. “We need gold to defend the people,” he had said. Beric knew he was right, but it still didn’t feel that way. 

“I never thought we’d see him again.” 

“Neither did I.”

“We did the right thing, you know. The Lord of Light needed that boy.”

“He’s still alive.”

Thoros hummed in response. He slipped his arm around Beric’s shoulder and pulled him closer in. “The lad wouldn’t have come north if the priestess hadn’t told him who he was. And she never would have told him who he was, had we not given him over. He has a part to play.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips softly against the top of his head. “As do we.” 

Beric closed his eyes and sighed. “You are right, as always.” 

He felt Thoros give a huff of amusement before sitting up. Beric groaned from the loss of weight behind him. “Come on then, the rest are waiting in the hall.” Thoros offered him a hand. Beric took it graciously, giving his a small squeeze in reply. The priest guided his lord through the narrow hallways. Each side were covered in sheets of thick ice. It was said that they weeped in the daylight, when the sun was highest in the sky. But they have not wept for some time, he imagined. 

Beric and Thoros were the last to arrive at the gate. The wildling fellow was speaking quietly to Jon Snow, thick red eyebrows raised to his forehead. Beric wasn’t sure what to make of the bastard of Winterfell. He had the Stark look, that much was true. But not in the way his father did. If anything, he looked more like his Uncle Benjen. Beric had seen the youngest Stark brother only once, in a tourney after the rebellion. He had darker hair than Ned Stark, and less thick of a jaw.

Gendry was lurking near the pair as well, eyes flickering uneasily to Beric and Thoros, before he scowled and turned back towards Jon.  _ The lad looks like Robert reborn _ . Beric’s eyes traveled down to the heavy hammer he held firmly.  _ And he knows it too _ . He wanted to go speak to the boy, to ask how he had escaped in the first place. He suspected the king-in-the-north’s advisor had something to do with it, but he wanted to know for himself. The lad was so quick to join the brotherhood, so loyal. He hoped that he hadn’t suffered much. But Thoros put his arm up to stop him before he could walk over. “Don’t,” he whispered. “There’ll be time for that later.” 

Beric hesitated for a minute, before nodding in agreement. 

“About time you two turned up,” Clegane muttered under his breath. “This one won’t shut up about it.” He gestured to a glaring Gendry. 

“Clegane,” Beric greeted. The Hound had a rope of his own wrapped around his middle. For the first time, Thoros left Beric’s side to Jon. Beric watched as he gestured to Clegane’s rope. 

“And you’ve seen these before?” He asked. Jon nodded.

“Aye.” He pulled something out from beneath his robes. They were daggers. Long and thin and dark. “Dragonglass. It’s the only thing that’ll kill them.” He passed them around to each of them. Jon watched as Beric felt himself grip the hilt of his sword. “As does fire,” he said nodding to the weapons. Beric raised his eyebrows at Thoros, who shrugged in reply. 

“Let’s get on with it then,” Clegane sighed. The rest of the brotherhood stood behind them as they neared the gate. The winds shook and rattled the metal bars. A warning to those who would come near. 

Beric gave Thoros one last look before the gates opened. And Thoros looked back at him, eyes wide, but not without the spark of humor. That was his way. Even at the edge of the world, with no hope in sight, Thoros always had that spark. Beric wanted to tell him everything. Every one of his fears, every one of his doubts. But he knew that he didn’t need to. Thoros understood him, even though there was no way he possibly could.  _ How could anyone possibly understand a walking dead man?  _

But Thoros did. 

And so they followed each other into the wilderness. 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. I wanted to get this chapter out before classes start up and I still have the time to do so. Hopefully part three will be out next weekend. Thanks for reading!

 

The world around them was growing smaller and smaller as the wall of snow surrounded them. Beric could feel Thoros shuffle closer. He felt a pang of sympathy for the man. As far as he knew, Pyke was the farthest north the priest had ever been. He could barely see the other men beside him as well, just large masses of dark shapes moving alongside.

 

Beric felt a cold hand slip into his own, moving slightly as they stumbled through the snow. He squeezed the hand back, hoping to transfer some of the warmth of his own...though he knew that his hands were likely just as cold. He thought that he heard Thoros say something in response, but any words were drowned out by the howling of the winds. 

 

They walked that way, for hours at least. Until the winds stopped howling so loud, and they could finally see further ahead. Beric blinked, and pulled his nose out from the fur.  _ It truly is magnificent up here _ , he thought. The lands stretched for miles upon miles, and not one man walked amongst the snow, save for them of course. 

 

In the corner of his eye, Beric saw Thoros approach Gendry. He shifted a little closer as well. He felt guilty about what they had done. And he knew Thoros did too, even if he had his own way of showing it. But regardless of how terribly this conversation would go, he wanted to be there as well.  

 

“Are you still mad at us boy?” Thoros asked. Gendry glared at him, blue eyes flashing and dark hair dusted with snow.  _ He truly is Robert’s son _ . 

 

“You sold me to a witch,” he snapped. 

 

“A priestess. I’ll admit, it is a subtle distinction.” Thoros caught Beric’s eye with a spark of humor. Beric shook his head gently. The boy wouldn’t care about that.  

 

“We’re fighting a great war. Wars cost money,” he said, in the gentlest voice he could muster. Not that it did much good. 

 

“I wanted to be one of you. I wanted to join the Brotherhood but you sold me off. Like a slave.” Gendry paused for a moment, voice panting. Beric and Thoros were on either side of him now as they trekked through the frozen wasteland. Beric could feel the familiar sense of guilt rising. “You know what she did to me? She strapped me down on the bed, she stripped me naked--”

 

“Sounds alright so far,” Clegane cut in. Gendry jumped, not realizing that he was behind them. He turned around to glare at the man.

 

“--and put  _ leeches _ on me.” 

 

“Was she naked too?” The Hound taunted. Beric looked back over at Thoros, who nodded his head with a knowing expression. They both knew what that meant. 

 

“She needed your blood,” said Thoros. King’s blood.

 

“Yes, thank you, I know that,” Gendry replied. 

 

But Clegane just laughed. The first one Beric had heard, since one they had heard since they ventured north. Not that it was any more genuine. “Could’ve been worse,” he grumbled.

 

“She wanted to kill me. And would have killed me if it weren’t for Davos--”

 

“But they didn’t did they? So what are you winging about?”

 

“I’m not winging.”

 

“Your lips are moving and you complain about something. That’s winging. This one has been killed six times and you don’t hear him bitching about it.” The Hound gestured to Beric, who felt Thoros tense up beside him, at the mention of his past resurrections. Neither liked to bring it up when they could help it. When Clegane turned to leave, Beric noticed Thoros trying to catch his eye. He avoided it all the same. A part of him goes missing, every time he returns. Talking about it doesn’t bring them back. 

 

“Good lad,” he heard the priest whisper to Gendry behind him. 

 

Beric watched Jon Snow talking to Jorah Mormont. He smiled softly. Jorah and Thoros recognized one another, in the cells back at Eastwatch. He knew that they fought against the Greyjoy Rebellion with one another, back before they had even met. Rarely did Thoros talk about it. Was too drunk to remember, he claimed. But Beric knew the red priest better than anyone. Something must have happened that day, when he charged in with his flaming sword.  _ Perhaps I’ll ask him about it. When all of this is over, at the darkness has been defeated _ .  

 

* * *

 

The winds were blowing once more. Harder even, then they were when they first left eastwatch. The group huddled together, save for one of the wildlings who had accompanied them on the journey. Beric watched the man creep out ahead of the group, hand raised above his eyes and spear in hand. He felt uneasiness creep in at the sight. 

 

There was something in the distance. A creature. “A bear. Big fucker,” he heard Clegane comment.

 

“Do bears have blue eyes?” Gendry asked Jorah. Beric narrowed his eyes. They did not have bears in the stormlands, the riverlands, or anywhere else in the south. Only north. But even he knew bears did not have blue eyes. 

 

There was only one thing that did. 

 

The wight-bear had spotted them. Beric wanted to shout after the wildling who had ventured out beyond the group, but he knew it would be no use. His voice would be drowned out in the wind before it could reach the man. 

 

The bear was quick to. With a roar, he mauled after the wildling, dragging him through the wall of falling snow. Beric followed Jon ahead of him. All that remained of the man was blood-stained snow, and the remains of a spear. Unconsciously, the group had already begun to form a circle. Backs facing in, swords facing out. It was too dark and thick with snow to see clearly, but Beric could make out Thoros’ red cloak move beside him. He couldn’t quite call it relief, but a rush of familiarity surged through him. Wights and White Walkers and blue-eyed bears were beyond anything he had ever faced. But fighting alongside Thoros was familiar. 

 

His one eye was wide with fear, searching desperately for any sign of the beast. They could hear it. Snuffling and roaring. Or perhaps that was just the wind. Regardless, a great paw followed by the outstretched jaws came down on one of the other wildlings, taking him out quickly. As soon as the man had disappeared, both Beric and Thoros drew their swords. He glided his hand across, sending waves of flames searing through the blade. The bear was drawing closer now. He gritted his teeth and gripped the hilt tighter. Reluctantly, he held the sword up above his head, drawing closer to the beast.  _ Perhaps if we shed enough firelight on it, the others can see it well enough to destroy it before it destroys us _ . 

 

It was too late for that, though. The bear reached for Tormund, snapping its jaws at the wildling’s torso. Beric grimaced against the snowy wind, and sliced at the bear’s side. He grunted in pain as one of the bear’s claws sunk into his thigh.  _ Not enough to be damaging, but enough to slow me down. _ Beric stumbled to his feet, breaths coming out in quick rushes. With one swing of his sword, a rush of flames danced throughout the wight-bear. But Beric wouldn’t dare let himself feel hope.  _ There’s no way they could go down that easily _ .

 

The bear did seem wounded. If only for a minute, at least. The flaming beast turned towards Clegane, blue eyes glaring. The Hound was staring back at it. Eyes wide with fear and sword slack in his hand.  _ Of course. The fire _ . 

 

And then Beric’s heart stopped. Thoros had pushed Clegane aside, face twisted in a snarl. He thrust his sword at the bear, and the bear pawed back. Beric stumbled to his feet.  _ He’s distracting him. Thoros, you fool _ . He could hear his shouts. His sword, pinned between the bear’s jaws and his hand.

 

It was Tormund who went after him first, swinging at the beast with his battle axe. The bear knocked him out quick enough, and turned his attention back to Thoros. 

 

When the bear finally knocked the sword from his hands, he rest of the scene only seemed to slow down. Thoros’ screams echoing in Beric’s mind, long after Jorah stabbed the bear in the neck with dragonglass. Beric did not know when he was finally able to summon the energy to pull his friend out from beneath its carcass, but when he did his legs shook the whole time.

 

If the winds weren’t too cold for it, Beric would have been sick. 

 

The sight of blood had never bothered him before. Even Thoros’ blood. He’d seen enough of it to grow used to it, perhaps. Or maybe it was the blind hope that if the lord of light  _ still _ kept bringing him back, he would spare enough for the drunk priest who said the words. 

 

But this was different. He had never seen wounds like this before. Not on Thoros, at least. 

 

“We have to get him back to Eastwatch,” Jorah Mormont said quietly. Beric couldn’t tear his gaze from his bloodied chest. Thoros was already shaking his head. 

 

“Flask,” he whispered. Beric nodded, bringing it to his lips quickly. He was thankful the priest hadn’t finished it back in Eastwatch.

 

“Go on.”

 

Beric wanted to close his eyes when he brought the flaming sword down on his wounds. He didn’t want to see them lick against his skin, or hear the screams that followed. But he had to keep watching. He had to make sure that he didn’t leave it too far. Or not far enough. 

 

When he was finished, he removed the sword as quickly as he could, bringing the cloth back up against his flayed skin. “You alright?” He asked. His voice broke slightly at the end. 

 

“I just got bit by a dead bear.” He hissed in pain. 

 

“Aye,” Beric responded. He felt a rush of relief when Thoros finally spoke. “You did.” 

 

Thoros smiled sadly. “Funny old life.”

 

Beric smiled back. He gripped his hand tightly and pulled him up. He kept his arm within distance, not trusting his priest to stay standing. But he did. 

 

And through that time, he hadn’t even realized  the flames on his sword still flickered in the snow. With a swift jerk, he brought it down in the bank beside them, leaving behind a faint hiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped a few minor things when writing this one, such as the convo between Jon and Beric.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! It's been a little while since I last updated, so it seems. Turns out being in college actually requires time and effort? A ridiculous arrangement! Anyways, I'm trying to get the last few chapters done sooner rather than later. Apologies for this one being a bit short, I've kind of accepted the fact that I'm pretty much incapable of writing a chapter longer than 2k :/:/ Oh well, I'll try to make it up to you next chapter!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!

Beric tried not to let Thoros drift too far from his side as they marched through the snow. Even so, he couldn’t ignore the way his friend stumbled every so often, a hand pressed to where his wound was beneath the mountain of furs. Each time he did so, Beric felt the dread in his own stomach sinking lower and lower.  _ We should have listened to Mormont _ , he thought.  _ We should have turned back while we still had the chance _ . But they were too far from Eastwatch to turn back so easily. They were too close to their destination, wherever and whatever that may be. And they both knew it.

“We should stop for a minute,” Clegane muttered. His eyes were fixed on the priest. If Beric didn’t know any better, he might have thought to have seen a spark of concern pass through his eyes. It had felt like years, since they had offered him a place in the brotherhood. At the time it had been nothing more than a flicker seen in the fire. Brotherhood traitors had destroyed the sept that Celgene was helping build, killing all the men and women. Terrible as it might have been, it had led the Hound to their doorstep, and the image Thoros had seen in the flames finally began to make sense. The Hound had as much reason to still be alive as he did. And as much as he may try and deny it, he had become one of them as well.

“I’ll be fine,” Thoros muttered. Beric looked at him, taking in the dark circles around his eyes and scratches on his cheeks from the bear’s claws. He found himself drifting closer, pressing his arm against the other’s shoulder. He immediately pulled away when the priest winced, guilt replacing the dread.

“Aye...you will,” he replied. His voice was slightly a bit harsher than he had meant it to be. He softened a little. “We’ve come this far. The lord wouldn’t just let us die up here, would he?” 

Thoros huffed out a laugh. “You, perhaps. I don’t know when the lord will be done with me. I truly don’t. But whenever that may be, it will be before you.”

Beric felt his mouth dry. “What are you talking about?” Thoros looked at him. Curious, at first. Questioning. 

“Surely...we’ve always known, Beric.” 

Beric winced. It was the first time Thoros had spoken his name since they began their conversation. It wasn’t the use of the name itself that frightened him. It was how calm he was when had said it. As if the prospect of his inevitable death didn’t bother him one bit. 

“I know, just...don’t say it.  _ Please _ don’t say it.” 

And Thoros didn’t. They were both quiet for a while, eyes searching the frozen wasteland for something neither of them knew. It was Beric who broke the silence, his voice weak. “Haven’t we given him enough?” He asked, voice strangled. Beric stopped walking, as did Thoros. The cold wind caught up to them when they slowed down, but Beric didn’t mind. He stood in front of Thoros, careful to block the harshest wind from his face.

It was a moment before Thoros replied. And his voice was quiet as well. “I go where the lord follows. Aye, this is true.” He leaned a little closer, until Beric could feel his warm breaths puff through the air. “But I would follow you first.” 

Beric closed his eyes, leaning slightly against in. He felt Thoros press his forehead against his own, and a light kiss brush across his lips. They were both too cold and too miserable to do much else. “Promise me one thing,” Beric whispered. 

“Anything.” 

Beric looked up. Thoros’ eyes were closed, his forehead slightly crunched in concentration.  _ Or even in pain _ . 

“When all this is over...all of it. The war against the Walkers, and whatever other plans he has for us...just...come back with me. To the Stormlands. To Blackhaven.” The words were out of his mouth before he had any time to think of anything else. He knew that he would never lose Thoros to anything, much less the excitement of the riverlands. But he had to hear it for himself. He had to be sure. 

Thoros laughed then. A deep, rumbling sound, and the most comforting thing Beric had ever heard. “Do you even have to ask?” 

Beric grinned back and shook his head. “No, I suppose not.” 

Thoros pulled himself away from Beric and gripped the flash with his left hand. He carefully pulled the cap away and took a deep drink. He offered it to Beric afterwards, but he shook his head. “You’re going to need it more, my friend,” he said. “And besides, I never much liked the taste.”

Thoros shook his head, giving Beric a wry smile, and continued on through the snow. Ahead of them, Tormund reached a hand out to Jon Snow, slowing the rest of them to a stop. They peered over the edge of the rocks. A line of wights were moving. His eyes widened at the sight. They moved slowly. More slow than he had expected them too. Though, he supposed they must, if it took them this long to make their way so close to Eastwatch. Even still, they moved far more slowly than men.  _ But still faster than corpses _ . Beric swallowed and exchanged looks with Thoros. For the first time in a long time, he could have sworn he saw something flash behind his eyes. Fear, was it? He couldn’t be sure, but his must have echoed the same. 

“Where’s the rest of them?” Jon Snow asked the wildling. Beric felt himself grind his teeth. The  _ rest  _ of them? 

“If we wait long enough we’ll find out,” Tormund replied. The wind howled as they moved down through the valley. If if he could even call it that. The snow was growing too thick to see much of anything. All they could do was put one foot in front of the other and hope they weren’t stepping off the edge. Beric narrowed his eyes against the wind. His one eye struggled to make out the shapes beside him. He could recognize Gendry’s war hammer. The same shape and design as his father’s. And Tormund’s axe, pointed up towards the snowy-white sky. He turned slightly beside him, searching for Thoros’ figure. He felt unexpected relief at the sight of him. Though quickly replaced by fear when he stumbled. 

“Thoros,” he called. His voice was hoarse and weak, and no doubt unheard by anyone other than himself. He reached towards him with his hand, reaching steadily for his arm. His frozen fingers curled around the priest’s. He squeezed back. Slowly, and weakly. 

Beric felt the fear deep in his stomach. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Thoros grasping desperately at his flaming sword as the wight bear mauled at him. The screams that echoed around them, echoing through Beric’s mind. He had never felt so helpless. The two of them had seen enough fights in their time, more than they had any right to. And each of them had been seen together. And Beric could not imagine it any other way. He  _ would _ not, no matter what Thoros or the Lord said. 

\--

The plan was simple enough, as how most of them start off to be. They would leave the fire burning below in the valley, straight through the path marched through. May the Lord permit it, the dead would be caught off guard. 

The others were not so convinced, at first. But Beric knew better.  _ The Lord would not let me survive this long, only for a plan to go wrong _ . He looked over at Thoros once more, His eyes were slightly hazy, but none of the warmth had gone missing.  _ So long as his eyes stare back at me, things will well and truly be alright _ .

They both pulled out their flaming swords and charged at the wights below. Neither Beric nor Clegane had even tried to convince Thoros to stay behind. They both knew that it would have been no use. And when Beric charged after the dead men, he kept the imagined conversation in his mind. “I didn’t come all this way to freeze on a snow drift,” he would say. His eyebrows would raise to his forehead in disbelief that Beric would even suggest such a thing, though his eyes would still be warm, as if they were sharing some kind of private joke. And perhaps they were. Beric kept those warm eyes in his mind when he slashed at each of the wights. 

When Jon Snow drew his sword through the Walker, most of the wights turned to ash and dust. Beric lurched under the weight of his own sword when the one beneath him vanished. A hand grabbed at his arm when he fell, pulling him up. “Careful now,” Thoros’ voice whispered softly.

The wight behind them let out a terrible sound, echoing through valley. Beric groaned and brought his hands up to his ears, letting the sword fall to a horrible clang at the flames to vanish into the snow. In the corner of his eye, he could see Thoros do the same, only with yet another wince. At some point, Clegane and Mormont must have managed to cover the creature’s head--and with it the sound. But it was little use. A rumbling was heard all throughout the lake behind them. Beric felt his stomach drop. He could hear Tormund saying something to Gendry. He reached out for Thoros, and Thoros for himself, grasping at each other’s shoulders as the wights flooded through the valley. 

 


End file.
